Dark Secrets
by KipperMay
Summary: Oz has many secrets. Some, as you know, are darker than others, and some are downright deadly...
1. Caught

Oz has many secrets. Some of them are darker than others...  
  
Willow sighed impatiently and looked around the lounge for Oz. There was no sign of him yet, and he was over ten minutes late. It's just not like him, she thought, beginning to get nervous. Suddenly, he appeared, hurrying toward her, looking pale, worried, and more flustered than she had ever seen him. He clutched a few books to his chest, odd papers sticking out from between them. He smiled slightly, and dropped the books onto the table when he saw her. He was breathing hard, and his eyes looked strange, kind of glazed over.  
"Sorry I'm late...studying, lost track of time..." Willow forced a smile despite her concern.  
"It's okay." They stared at each other a moment, and finally, she asked, " Oz, are you okay?" He frowned, but nodded.  
"I'm cool." He sat down, pulling her to sit next to him. They sat together in silence for a while, and she was about to press him further about what was wrong when Buffy and Xander sat down across from them. Buffy smiled.  
"Hey! How's the cutest couple in Sunnydale?" Willow frowned, and Oz's expression fell to match hers. Xander raised an eyebrow.  
"I'm going to take that as a 'not so good'?" Oz shook his head, and stood up.  
"I'm late. For study hall. Later," he said, leaning down to kiss Willow's cheek before hurrying away. Buffy and Xander watched until he was out of sight and earshot, then looked intently to Willow, who sighed.  
"I don't know what's going on with him. He was almost fifteen minutes late meeting me here, and he's acting...weird."   
"Come on, Will, he's Oz, what do you expect?" Xander scoffed, leaning back. Buffy shot an icy glare, and he leaned forward again, hunching his shoulders. "Shutting up now.." Buffy sighed and turned back to Willow.  
"He's probably just having a bad day. We all do,"she said, then added, "even Oz," at Willow's expression. She sighed.  
"I guess...I just wish he would talk to me, you know?" Buffy nodded.  
"I know. And he'll come around, trust me. Shall we go?" Xander stood up quickly.  
"Sounds like a plan." And they walked down the hall to their next class.  
***  
  
Oz sat behind the school building, breathing hard. His belt, wrapped tightly around his arm, revealed a vein in the crook of his arm. Taking a deep, shaking breath, he pushed the needle filled with heroin into the vein, then pulled it out and unwrapped the belt. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, allowing the drugs to enter his system, then slowly stood up and put his belt back on. He threw the needle into an open Dumpster, shouldered his backpack, and walked back inside, trying to keep his vision clear. He ran toward the library, his head swimming. Pushing open the doors, he tried not to pay attention to how everyone was staring. I'm not late, he thought. It's the drugs...they're not staring.  
Willow smiled as he sat down.   
"Hey, Oz, ready to research?" Oz closed his eyes for a moment, fighting sudden diziness, and when he opened them, she was frowning, but he forced a smile.  
"Yeah, sorry, killer headache." Willow took his hand, gently, and looked into his eyes. Oz's heart pounded nervously. Could she know? He frowned. Of course she couldn't. He'd been careful, he'd been almost compulsive about making sure she-well, none of them-knew. She couldn't know.  
He cleared his throat, and opened a book, pretending to pore carefully over it. The words blurred in front of him, but he turned pages regularly to make it seem as if he was reading. In reality, he was allowing the drugs course through his veins, numbing his body and mind, making him feel better than he had in a long time...  
  
"Oz? Oz, it's late, come on, you should go home..." Willow's voice and her hand shaking his arm slowly drifted into Oz's consciousness. He sat up, and opened his eyes. Instantly his head was throbbing. He cringed and looked at Willow, squinting through the intense pain.   
"What happened?" Willow smiled.  
"You fell asleep. Guess all that intense research was just a bit too much." She pulled his arm, forcing him to stand up. His knees felt like rubber, and he wobbled unsteadily, clutching the tabletop for balance. Willow frowned. "Oz, are you sure you're okay?" He nodded quickly.  
"Just...my legs are asleep. Guess I was in one position too long..." The frown disappeared, and was replaced with a relieved smile.  
"Oh, I hate that! Come on, I'll help you to your van. You should go home and sleep. More." He nodded, smiling despite the pain drilling throughout his head, and they made their way to his van.   
  
Willow walked slowly back into the library, sighing tiredly as she turned off lights and closed up the library. She was just about to walk out when she noticed Oz's backpack sitting forgotten on a chair. A small smile hinted on her face, and she picked it up, pulling the strap over her shoulder, then walked out, shutting off the main lights and locking the door behind her.  
At home, Willow unzipped Oz's backpack, holding a short note she had written to him, intending to leave it inside with his books for him to find the next day. Curiousness overcame her, though, and she turned the backpack upsidedown, dumping its contents onto her bedspread. Books, papers, folders, and...needles...fell out onto the bed. A ziplock bag filled with white powder also fell out. Will picked up the needles and bag, studying them carefully. She shoved them into her pockets, then picked up the telephone.   
  
"I'll get it!" Joyce shouted, getting up to answer the phone, but before she could move, Buffy was rocketing into the kitchen.  
"Hello? Oh, hey, Will...uh-huh...what's wrong? Uh-huh...you found *what*?...oh my god...no, stay there, I'll come and get you...I don't know...okay, okay, I'll be there in five minutes...okay.." Buffy replaced the phone on the receiver, wide-eyed, and walked back into the living room. She stared at her mother for a moment, then collapsed onto the couch, covering her face with her hands.   
"Buffy? What is it?" Buffy looked up at Joyce, tears glistening in her eyes.  
"Do...do you mind being driver tonight? There's a few places we have to go."   
  
Willow climbed into the car and handed the bag and syringes wordlessly to Buffy, who, also silent, held them solemnly up for her mother to see. Joyce frowned, and looked back at Willow.  
"You said these were in Oz's backpack?" Willow nodded, pale. Joyce sighed. "We have to go see him, make sure he's okay." Willow nodded again, and Joyce pulled away from the curb, driving quickly toward Oz's house. "Are his parents there?" she asked, looking into the rearview mirror. Willow shook her head.  
"They're in Las Vegas for the week." Buffy nodded, and reached back to pat Will's knee.  
"We'll take care of it. I promise."  
  
Oz desperately tore apart his room, pulling out all of his drawers and taking the sheets off his bead. He was sweating profusely, and breathing shallowly.  
"Where is it? Where is it..?" he muttered quietly as he searched. When he had gotten home, he had intended on getting wasted before going to bed. When he found that all of his heroine was missing...well. As he began pulling the drawers in his desk open, someone cleared their throat from the doorway. He whirled around, wiping sweat off his forehead. Buffy, Willow, and Mrs. Summers stood just inside his room. He forced a smile. "Hey there...what's up?" Buffy held up the bag. *His* bag. His heart sank, and suddenly he felt like he was going to be sick. His smile faded. "Where...where'd you get that?" Willow cleared her throat.  
"You-you left your backpack at the library. I was going to leave you a note, but...I found it in there." His legs felt rubbery again, and he sat down on the edge of his bed, letting his breath out in a whoosh.   
"I..." Mrs. Summers walked further into the room, and sat next to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. He felt like crying. He needed to get high.   
"Oz, why didn't you tell someone? You need help, honey..." Oz closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears, but they came, and he sobbed into Joyce's shoulder until he was too tired to even cry. Joyce held him tenderly, and they waited patiently until he took a deep, hiccuping breath, and sat up again.   
"I don't know...I couldn't...I mean, how could I tell anyone? What would you...you'd hate me.." His head pounded, screaming for the drugs that Buffy still held, and he silently cursed. He was worse than he thought. Willow sat down, too, pulling him into a hug.  
"Oz, I could never hate you. I love you. I could help--" His head was screaming again, and Willow's words were drowned out by the raging pain in his head. He let out a cry, and grabbed his head, looking to Buffy desperately. He knew she knew what he wanted--what he needed, and she took a step backward, shaking her head.   
"Please--" It was all he could manage before the pain overtook him, and he was plunged into blackness. 


	2. Numb

When he woke up, Oz found himself staring at the white ceiling of a hospital room. He knew hospitals well. He had visited them enough as a child...  
Whenever his father had come home drunk, Oz had felt the blunt end of his anger. He could always recall the dark leather strap Mr. Osbourne had sometimes used, and how other times, he had just used his fists, and his feet. Either way, Oz always ended up in the same place: the hospital. Sometimes, as he had pretended to sleep, he would listen to his father talking over him to the doctor.  
"He's just so rude to the other boys at school, they must do this in self defense.." And he would pretend to sleep until they left, and then he would cry quietly until he really did fall asleep. He knew that he couldn't tell. He would get it bad if he told, he knew. His father had trained him well....  
"Hey, Oz, how're you feeling?" Willow asked quietly from a corner of the room. He rolled over to look at her, and instantly regretted it.  
"Ow," he moaned quietly. Understatement of the century, Oz thought to himself. Feels like my head's being bashed in again...  
Willow's face floated into his field of vision. She was smiling. Reaching up to gently touch his face, she kissed his forehead, then sat on the edge of the bed.  
"Mrs. Summers went to get some soup. She was worried about the food here." Oz couldn't help but chuckle. He remembered the food. He had always eaten as much as possible when he was in the hospital. There had always been the possibility that he wouldn't have another bite for days afterward...  
Joyce appeared in the doorway, holding a styrofoam container. She smiled, and handed it to Oz, along with a spoon and a Thermos of tea. He smiled gratefully.  
"Thanks, Mrs. Summers, but you didn't have to. I'm kind of used to the hosptical food anyway..." Crap. He hadn't meant to let that slip...too late now, he thought, trying not to frown at the looks that Joyce and Willow were giving him. He shrugged. "I was a klutz when I was younger," he clarified, turning his attention to the soup that almost promised relief from the hammering in his temples. He got about two bites down and was almost sure he was going to be sick. He stopped eating.   
He knew they wondered. Why, why he would do this to himself. You're smart, they'd say. Practically a genius, and you didn't think this would hurt you? And he knew the answer, though he would die before telling them.   
I couldn't feel him hit me when I was high, he'd say. I was numb, it didn't hurt. Sure, I cried, I begged him to stop, just like I had before, but I crawled away, no matter how bruised and broken, I crawled away feeling like I had won. Like I had beat him. Because I didn't hurt, and when I started to hurt the next day, I took more. Then I was okay. I could live a normal life and never hurt because of him.  
"Oz?" Xander was waving his hand in front of Oz's face, bringing him abruptly back to the present. Oz forced a smile.  
"Xander...guess you know too, then, huh?" Xander nodded soberly.   
"Man, I'm sorry...you should have told someone, you know? We could have helped you, before it came to this.." he said, motioning to their surroundings. Oz shrugged.  
"I don't mind the hospital so much," he replied simply, turning to where he had put his soup down. He picked it up, stared into the container and swirled it around with his spoon before replacing it on the nightstand. It was cold, now, anyway. Xander sighed, and patted Oz's knee, standing up.   
"I'll see you later, okay? I'm going to get some coffee and stuff. Buffy's going to come in to keep you company for awhile." Oz sighed.  
"She doesn't have to. I'm okay on my own.." Xander kneeled down by Oz, looking intently into his eyes.  
"Oz, and believe me when I say this, she wants to. Okay?" Oz nodded reluctantly, and Xander left, seeming satisfied.  
  
The hospital days drifted by, while Oz drifted in and out of dreams. Out long enough to eat and smile, and back in to the twisted nightmare being created in his head. His father was beating him again, calling him a fairy, calling him weak, useless. He was thrown back in time to when his father had first found him painting his fingernails black, how he hadn't even bothered to find his leather strap. How he had punched Oz through the window, how he had cut his fingernails until they bled, then dumped his mother's polish remover on the wounds. How he had called him a fag, how Oz had been sure he was going to die...  
and how, as soon as his nails grew back, he had painted them again. How, after that day, he had begun to rebel. How he had started taking heroin--  
Out again, out of his dream world, eat, smile, back in. So went his days in the hospital. Then Mrs. Summers was telling him about rehab--  
he wasn't sure whether or not he was dreaming when she told him about it, but when he got out of the hospital the next day and Joyce said that Giles was going to drive him to rehab after school, he knew he had been awake.  
  
Oz didn't want to go to rehab. He didn't want to tell, he wanted to keep the nightmare world to himself. It was behind him, now, anyway. He could stop taking drugs. He could stop hurting himself, he could stop...  
but he went. He sat quietly in the car each day while Giles drove him, sat and politely shared during therapy, and sat quietly again while Giles drove him home. He never went into the house. As soon as Giles was safely out of sight, Oz was off in his van, back to Devon's house. Devon let him stay over whenever he wanted. Devon's mother didn't really mind, anyway, so it pretty much worked out. He didn't know about rehab, Devon. He didn't know about the heroin, none of it. He just let Oz stay the night whenever he asked. It worked out pretty well, actually.   
  
When Oz knocked on Devon's door one night, he was surprised when no one answered. He raised his hand to knock again, when the door swung open. His father stood glaring at him from the doorway. Devon's face appeared behind Mr. Osbourne.  
"Hey, Oz, did you know your dad's been looking for ya?" he asked. Oz nodded.  
"Thanks, Dev..." Mr. Osbourne smiled, grabbing Oz's shoulder and leading him away from Devon's house.  
"Daniel, I've been so worried. Good thing I found you," he was saying loudly, smiling and waving to Devon. Oz's heart pounded. He couldn't even take anything to stop the pain. When they got home, his father shoved him into the living room and slammed the door behind them. He fixed an icy glare on Oz, and smiled. "Now you're going to learn a lesson." 


End file.
